Gamesmanship
by elfluvr
Summary: COMPLETE games·man·ship gāmzmenshĭp´ noun The use in a sport or game of aggressive, often dubious tactics, such as psychological intimidation or disruption of concentration, to gain an advantage over one's opponent. Follows my story The Hard Way.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Gamesmanship**

Author: elfluvr

Summary: **games·man·ship** (gāmzʹmən-shĭp´) _noun_  
The use in a sport or game of aggressive, often dubious tactics, such as psychological intimidation or disruption of concentration, to gain an advantage over one's opponent.

Follows my story The Hard Way.

Disclaimer: You know it by heart.

Archive: Fanfiction - anywhere else, just ask

Feedback: Please! It's always welcome

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It helps if you've read "The Hard Way" because this story references the crime and some other things in that one.

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Chapter 1 – **Gamesmanship**

Seated at a table in the New York City library, Bobby Goren found the reference he was looking for in an encyclopedia. It related back to a French philosopher and theologian – Peter Abelard. Abelard asserted that truth must be attained by carefully weighing all sides of any issue. His concept of ethics maintained that an act is to be judged by the intention of the doer. Goren made notations in his binder so he had the information he needed to search for a biography on Abelard.

What he hadn't expected to find was that in 1117 Abelard began tutoring Héloïse, the niece of a canon of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris. They fell in love and secretly married after Héloïse gave birth to a son. Abelard then persuaded Héloïse to take holy vows. Her uncle, convinced that Abelard had abandoned Héloïse, had him castrated. About 1132 Abelard and Héloïse began a famous exchange of letters, which had become classics of romantic correspondence.

Goren added that last bit of information to his notes as something else he needed to research.

He once made the remark that his most important investigative tool was his library card – it was true then and it was still true now. For him, even the internet couldn't compare with the wealth of knowledge he could find among the rows of books, reference materials, periodicals and maps. The smell of aging paper and leather bindings combined with the calm quiet to provide a setting in which he could gorge himself on research. But in all honesty he would have to admit his love of the setting could be attributed to the affectionate memories he held of better days when his mother was still able to work as a librarian.

Jotting notes in his binder from the section he had marked with his index finger, he barely noticed when someone sat next to him until he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Before he even glanced at his new companion, his spine stiffened and his gut twisted – something about the body language …

"Hello, Bobby. Have you missed me?"

Looking into familiar, large brown eyes, Goren had a sick feeling of vertigo as his quiet Saturday at the library was suddenly and violently turned upside down. Closing the book in front of him, he coldly glared at Nicole Wallace.

"Well … maybe not," she gave a pretty shrug, then grinned broadly. "I've missed _you_! Keeping up with your life through newspapers and gossip just isn't the same as being here."

"Why _are_ you here, Nicole?" Goren asked while trying to hide the feeling of dread that was clawing at his chest. "It's been so long I … I thought you were finally locked up somewhere."

"Very funny, Bobby." Nicole clasped her hands on the table in front of her, like a good little school girl. "But you know, other than you, no one is out to get me."

"Well…i-it's a large oversight on someone's part." His mind was quickly processing the fact that this bane of his existence was again sitting in front of him – that could only mean trouble.

"I've missed our little game."

"I'm through playing your games, Nicole"

"Oh, you'll want to play this one," her eyes glittered and the clawing in his chest became more insistent. "It includes your pretty little partner."

Nicole leaned into him, placing one hand on his knee. "You've still never told Detective Eames how you feel about her, have you?" she spoke in a conspiratorial tone. "Tell me, Bobby. When she was pregnant, did you fantasize that it was your baby growing inside her? Or at least that you had the chance to plant the seed."

Goren momentarily closed his eyes and fought to tamp down the anger building within him. Anger was too raw an emotion and emotions gave Nicole the advantage. "These 'games' … have always been between us. Why bring Eames into it?"

"She adds an extra bit of interest for me," her fingers trailed a short way up his thigh then back down to his knee where they continued to circle in a slow caress. "I hear she has exquisitely poor judgment when it comes to choosing men …including a bi-sexual drug addict who was murdered."

_How the **hell** would she know about that?_ It wasn't something that was common knowledge.

Nicole straightened in her chair and removed her hand from his knee. Goren resisted the urge to use the heel of his hand to rub away the sensation of her touch.

"That was your case, wasn't it?" she purred. "Only she wasn't your partner on it. I wonder why?"

_She can't know! There's NO WAY she can know! _Bobby felt his poker face slipping and shifted his gaze to his binder on the table – a sign of weakness he knew, but less so than letting her see what was in his eyes.

"Well, as you said … she knew the victim. Conflict of interest," he replied evenly with much more calm than he felt.

"Ah." That small sound left Bobby with the sick feeling that she knew everything,

"You and – Logan was it?" In a move she could have learned from him, Nicole dipped her head to catch his eyes and bring them back up to hers. "You two didn't spend too much time investigating Detective Eames' involvement with the victim. Or his murderer for that matter."

"The …there was nothing to investigate." This time he couldn't hide his feeling – confusion.

"I'm afraid that's not how your IAB would see it."

The rock that had formed in his stomach the moment she sat next to him decided to start tumbling. "What have you done?" he asked coldly.

"Nothing," she sang while once again grinning happily. What Goren saw was the bared teeth of a predator. "The game is just beginning. I thought I'd give you a head start on this one."

She was gaining too much of an advantage. He had to deflect the play – gain back at least even footing. He took a few moments to study her, sizing up his adversary.

"Your pursuit of vengeance through me is … obsessive." Goren leaned close to her. "I wonder why that is. What makes me the primary target of all your venom?" Tilting his head and leaning even closer to her left ear, he kept his voice low and threatening. "Why do you keep coming back here when you could inflict yourself anywhere?"

Goren grabbed her right wrist and held it tight, taking pleasure in her look of surprise. "How much do I resemble your father? Was he a big man … tall, like me?" he tightened his grip. "Or did he just look that way to a … a three-year old Nicole?" his voice was more insistent as he tugged on her wrist. Nicole gasped and the final remnants of her smile faded.

"He had brown eyes, didn't he? But more like yours than mine. No wonder you hate yourself so much, Nicole," Goren released her and leaned back in his chair. "Every time you look in the mirror, you see him staring back at you."

She abruptly stood, the chair legs scraping against the wood floor. "I'll take that as a 'yes' to playing the game." Nicole picked up her purse from the table. "I really have to rush now … I'm already late for an appointment," she waved her fingers over her shoulder as she turned to walk away.

"Nicole!" Goren stood and called her attention back to him. "I'm your opponent, not her."

"Don't worry, Bobby … I'm not replacing you," her voice soothed. "She's going to be the sacrificed pawn."

Two strides and he was close enough to grip her upper arm and pull her directly in front of him – her face inches from his. Bobby's arm shook with the willpower it took to keep from wrenching her arm hard enough to break it.

"Go ahead Bobby … hurt me. Show me just how much like daddy you really are."

She always knew exactly what wounds to open to put him at a disadvantage, but the stakes of this game were too high – involving something more precious than his damaged psyche. No taunts could goad him closer to the edge than he already was.

Twisting her arm from his grasp, Nicole raised her hand to brush hair away from her eyes. She gave him a satisfied smile.

"Let the game begin."

TBC … 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - **Gamesmanship**

Deakins walked into the conference room and stood at the doorway for long moments, mouth agape. "What the hell is this?"

Goren was tempted to just ignore the interruption so he could concentrate on the collage of photos he'd pinned up on the bulletin board in front of him. Trying to re-immerse himself in a case this cold was taking more time than he thought he had. Not to mention the fact that this particular case triggered painful memories that had finally started to dull to merely an ache.

He felt the captain walk up behind him. "Is this the Foster case?"

Goren nodded.

"That was … what? Nine, ten months ago?"

"Nine." If asked, Goren could tell him the exact day Foster had been killed, and the exact day he was finally able to close the file and take a much-needed week's vacation.

"I thought you and Logan closed that case when the killer OD'd."

"I need to look at it again … see if I missed anything."

"Why? It's a done deal."

"It's been suggested that I … I didn't do a thorough enough job investigating." Not for the first time that night, Goren mentally flogged himself at the thought that something he had or hadn't done on this case would open the door for Nicole to harm Alex.

"Suggested by whom?"

Goren gave up. It was obvious he'd have to explain this to Deakins and besides, his deep concentration was already broken. He was no longer immersed in the series of photos and case notes that, in his mind, replayed the crime and its motivation.

"Nicole."

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"Goren, you know I wouldn't believe any shit coming from Wallace." Deakins had seemed almost as angry as Bobby himself when told of her re-appearance and ominous insinuations against Eames. "But I gotta tell ya, at the time I wondered myself why Eames wanted off that case. I always thought she was made of stronger stuff."

"She is strong!" Goren angrily retorted before realizing he should tone it down. "More than you know," he said more calmly.

Deakins studied him and Goren grew uncomfortable. "Nicole's vendetta has always been against you personally. Why would she go after Eames?"

_Because it doesn't get any more personal than that._

Focusing on where his thumb was rubbing the stitching of his leather binder, Goren tried to hide from Deakins' discerning gaze. No such luck.

"Bobby. This is the last time I'm ever going to say this to you," the captain's voice was low. "If there's anything I should know, I want to hear it from you … not through some rumor mill or from the Chief."

Shaking his head, Bobby's eyes darted to Deakins then back to his binder. "There's nothing." When he got no response from the captain, he looked up and saw that he was once more alone in the conference room.

_'There's nothing.'_ Nothing but a heart-wrenching night nine months ago, and the pain and test of willpower Eames and he had endured since then.

Besides, Eames had moved on. Not that she'd said so in as many words, but all the signs were there. In the evenings, she left the squad room on time every chance she got, usually following some cryptic phone call. _'Yeah I can get out early tonight … I'll meet you there.'_ He never asked. She never offered.

Worse than that were the mornings she came in late carrying a cup of that extra strong coffee she preferred on the days she was running on too little sleep. Those mornings her smile held secrets, and her perfume was tainted by a man's cologne.

_No, nothing to tell here Captain._

Unless he wanted to hear all about lost opportunity. Or the many and various ways life had fucked Bobby. He could go on for hours, if Deakins really wanted to hear.

Suddenly the conference room with its files and photos felt claustrophobic – filled with reminders of a time he desperately wished he could forget. He needed to get out of there, go home and pour some scotch down his throat. A temporary oblivion, he'd learned from experience, but better than none at all.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, Bobby turned to leave the squad room only to see Alex round the corner from the elevators. _Oh Christ, what's she doing here?_

"Hey, Bobby," she smiled as she headed toward their desks.

"Hi." Red clingy top. Short black skirt. Sandals. Could this day get any more miserable?

"I left some tickets for tonight in my desk," she explained while pulling open her center drawer. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," he answered and abruptly headed toward the elevators.

"Bobby?"

He kept going. Turning left instead of right Bobby decided to duck into the stairwell rather than wait for an elevator. _God, I really need that scotch._

TBC … 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - **Gamesmanship**

_This isn't good._

Bobby wasn't answering and Alex knew he was home – she could hear the soft strains of music seeping through the door. She pressed her ear to the wood.

_This really isn't good._

Stevie Ray Vaughan, '_Leave My Girl Alone_.' With the mood Bobby was in when she last saw him, his choice of Stevie Rays' blues did not bode well.

"Bobby? Open the door," she tried calling out, letting him know it was her. "I know you're in there." She knocked again, harder this time. Still no response. "Bobby, don't make me pick the lock." The song track changed to _'The Sky is Crying.'_ _Ahh, Bobby. What's going on in your head?_

"C'mon … either open up or I'll be in there in a minute anyway." An idle threat since she really didn't have her lock pick set with her.

She thought she heard some noise, but it was hard to tell over the music. _Sonofabitch!_ Her fist was raised to pound on the door when it suddenly opened.

He looked down at her, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, and Alex now wished she'd gone home first to change into a pair of jeans and a sweater. But all night she couldn't stop thinking about Bobby and what she'd seen in the conference room. As soon as the off-off-Broadway play was over, she'd made her excuses and come right over here. She had to know what the hell was going on.

Finally Bobby stepped away from the door and walked down the hall toward his living room. Alex closed the door behind her and followed.

One dim light glowed in the room. The air smelled of alcohol and cigarettes as Stevie Ray's guitar cried a mournful song of love and loss. Bobby slumped back into the chair he'd obviously been occupying and she saw the bottle on the table next to him.

"Mind if I join you?" Without waiting for a reply, she picked up the scotch off the end table and took it with her to the kitchen. After pouring a small amount into a glass, she left the bottle on the kitchen counter. On her way back into the living room, she walked over to the stereo and lowered the volume before settling onto the couch with one leg tucked beneath her.

"There's ice," he said, nodding toward her glass.

"I like mine neat."

"I didn't know you even liked scotch."

"There's a lot about me you don't know," she said quietly.

Actually, she really didn't like scotch. To her it tasted like turpentine. But pouring a glass for herself accomplished two things – it got the bottle out of his reach, and it gave her something to do with her hands. The fiery burn down her throat was just an added bonus.

"What's going on, Bobby?" she set her glass down on the side table and leaned forward. "Why is Mark Foster's case file spread all over the conference room at work?"

He was staring into the depths of the drink in his hand, as though the amber liquid held answers. Alex let the silence grow between them. The ball was in his court and she wasn't about to let him off without explanation.

"She's back," he raised his head and his eyes met hers.

"She … ?" Alex was confused. _What 'she' could he possibly … oh shit!_ "Nicole Wallace?" He nodded.

Alex felt anger building within her. Why couldn't she just stay away and leave him alone? Nicole ripped Bobby apart every time she came near, and Alex wound up with the job of putting him back together and assuaging the damage she'd done.

"Shouldn't she be locked up somewhere?" she unknowingly reflected his first reaction. Bobby's smirk held no amusement.

"I don't understand, Bobby. What does she have to do with Mark's file?"

"She's opened … every wound in my life and made it bleed. This time … she's doing it through you."

"I still don't …"

"She said we didn't do enough to investigate your connection to Foster," he interrupted her, sounding more than a little angry. "She hinted that you … you knew his killer." Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and dangling his drink between his knees. "Do you know anything? Did we … miss something?"

"About José Valderez?" She only vaguely remembered the name of Mark's killer.

"About any of it."

"Bobby, I can't imagine what she's talking about."

He leaned back into the chair and took another swallow of scotch. "She … made remarks … about you not working the case with me." His eyes held a sheen, almost feverish. That's when Alex realized he'd probably had more to drink than she'd first thought.

"She sounded like she knows something."

"Bobby, she's guessing." Alex hesitated, wondering how she could possibly go about convincing him that Nicole really didn't know everything about him – how to remind him that her uncanny knack for hurting him came from the same understanding of human nature that he possessed. "I'm your partner and I've worked every case with you for the last five years, other than during my pregnancy."

Bobby frowned and his eyes quickly darted away from hers then back.

"The fact that I wasn't with you on that one is unusual and Nicole's certainly smart enough to know that. She's playing you and she'll base her moves on your reactions." Alex couldn't tell if she was getting through to him. "Don't you see," her voice softened. "What she thinks is your weakness is really our strength." He cocked his head, questioning her meaning. "We know the real reason I didn't work that case."

Warm, dark brown eyes held hers as she saw the memories and emotions that were surely reflected in her own.

"I don't see how that helps," his voice rasped.

"It's the truth. That has to be worth more than whatever crap she's cooked up."

Bobby scrubbed at his eyes with his fingertips then dragged his palm down his face to rub the stubble on his jaw. _He's tired. That's his tell for when he's totally exhausted._ He let his head fall against the back of the chair and looked at her.

"Who is he Alex?"

Four little words should not have the power to tilt her world at this sickening angle. _Dammit, Bobby! Why'd you have to ask?_ She wished she knew who he was trying to punish with the question – her or himself. She figured it was probably a little of both.

"A friend of a friend," Alex answered vaguely, guessing that he didn't really want to know who he was, just if he existed. Judging by Bobby's reaction he must have hoped she'd deny it altogether, and maybe she should have. Surely her heart would break in two for the pain she saw in his eyes – Bobby most certainly was bleeding. Alex couldn't remember ever seeing him look so miserable.

He focused on the drink in his hand, at the swirling ice and the light ringing sound it made against the glass. "Make sure he treats you right," he said before taking a long swallow.

"Well … I'm pretty sure he isn't a cokehead," Alex tried to joke. Her only reward was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Bobby, tomorrow … hey," she was determined to have him look at her and she paused until he finally raised his eyes. "Tomorrow we're going in and together we're going to look at those files."

He nodded his head, but didn't say a word. Draining his glass, he got up and headed to the kitchen. Alex let herself out the front door. She didn't want to be there when Bobby returned with the bottle of scotch.

TBC… 

A/N – Okay … I'll get past the angst now, move on with the story and try my hand at an actual plot.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Short chapter. Anyone who's read my stories knows that they don't usually (okay … never) have much of a plot. This one's likely to have holes large enough to drive a tank through. I'm treating this as a learning experience, so any commentary or feedback as the story progresses will be appreciated.

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Chapter 4 – **Gamesmanship**

He felt better than he deserved to. He had Eames to thank for that.

Last night when he'd headed out to the kitchen, Bobby had every intention of pouring himself another drink – and another one after that. Then he'd heard the front door close and knew that she'd left – probably because she didn't like to see him drunk.

_'Together we're going to look at those files.'_

Bobby closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What the hell was he doing? She was unfamiliar with the details of the case. He needed a clear head if he was going to find out anything to protect her. And here he was determined to drink himself into a stupor. The only thing to be gained by that would be a foggy and painful head in the morning.

As for the rest of it … they'd made their decision nine months ago. Alex had suffered as much as he since then, Bobby knew that. He should be happy for her that she was now trying to get on with the rest of her life. Maybe it was time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and did the same.

He'd put the bottle away, chugged a glass of water instead, turned off Stevie Ray and watched the late night news before going to bed and actually managing to get a few hours of sleep.

As Bobby turned the corner on the eleventh floor of One PP, he saw that Eames was already at her desk reading through file notes. She looked up when she heard him and her uncertainty was quickly replaced with a surprised smile. He knew she probably expected him to be hung over, but instead he'd been up for a couple of hours, eaten some breakfast and even shaved.

"You look good for a Sunday."

"Well a … a friend stopped by last night and kept me from … drinking myself into oblivion," he said gently. Her smile brightened and Bobby wished he could always make her this happy. "Have you been here long?"

"Just got here about fifteen minutes ago," she answered while grabbing the file folder and walking with him to the conference room.

Eames must have gotten an early start – there was a carafe of Starbucks coffee and box of Krispy Kremes sitting in the middle of the table.

"I thought you'd need the sugar," she sounded apologetic.

"A sip of your coffee would have done it." He managed to avoid the paper clip she threw at him, but not the warmth of her smile.

"Why don't you start with those files," he waved a hand toward one end of the table. "They're mostly history on José Valderez and … Logan's notes on what he was able to dig up. Let me know if you need help deciphering his handwriting."

"After reading your scrawl all these years, this should be no problem."

He tried a threatening scowl, but instead it turned into a grin.

This felt good. They hadn't been this relaxed with one another in months – nine months to be exact. Goren realized how much he'd missed the teasing and easy companionship they'd had before he'd messed things up and thrown in the sexual tension. Maybe they could get back to where they were …

He stopped and his eyes scanned the photos on the bulletin board. Something wasn't right. A picture had been added to the lower right-hand corner. Goren bent over and cocked his head to see what it was, and froze.

"Eames … did you put this here?"

"What?"

"This photo."

She got up from the table and walked to where he was still studying the picture, ducking her head beneath his to get a better look. "That's me," Eames sounded mildly surprised.

"That's you … and that's José Valderez."

"What!"

He straightened in time to keep her head from knocking him on the chin. Eames reached for the photo and Goren grabbed her wrist. "Don't! Don't move or touch anything. If I didn't put it there, and you didn't put it there …"

"I'll get gloves."

"No," Goren realized he still held her wrist and let go. "For all we know, the placement of that photo has meaning. We need someone from CSU in here to … take pictures and check for forensics."

Eames nodded. "I'll have the security tapes pulled," she called over her shoulder as she headed toward her desk.

"And … call Deakins."

TBC … 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – **Gamesmanship**

A small CSU team had already photographed the entire conference room, dusted everything for prints and gone through the room with a fine-tooth comb.

Goren was setting up the monitor and VCR in the captain's office while Deakins and Eames were studying the photo encased in its plastic 'Evidence' bag. Not surprisingly, no fingerprints were found on the photo.

"It looks like it was taken at a party … on someone's rooftop patio," Deakins commented. "Look … the Towers are in the background. It was taken before 9/11."

Finished setting up the equipment, Bobby glanced at Alex and was immediately struck by the tight lines of worry painting her face and the tension he saw in her body. He walked behind her to peer over her shoulder.

"Before 9/11 … it may have been while you were still working vice," Bobby lightly squeezed her shoulder. "Nothing about this looks familiar?"

She shook her head. "I … I really don't remember this," Alex sounded totally baffled. "Although, judging by the position of the Towers, it looks like somewhere in Soho … or maybe The Village. That's the area I worked in vice."

"Well, if this is the extent of Nicole's threat," the captain spoke up, "she's really overestimating the value of an old photo."

_Where the hell were those security tapes?_ Bobby started pacing the office. "No … no, this is just her opening move."

"Finally," Deakins impatiently waved in the young kid carrying the security tapes.

Goren snatched the tapes and started sorting through them. "Let's start with … uh … the eleventh floor … then the lobby."

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"Useless!" Three full viewings later, Deakins got up from his chair in frustration and headed out to find some coffee.

"Whoever she was, she knew where the cameras were," Alex said quietly.

Bobby punched the rewind button one more time and backed up the tape of the lobby. They had a copy of the log-in sheets from the previous night and had compared it to the people coming in and out. There was one woman on tape who wasn't logged in. Bobby watched again as she walked in the front door, spoke with the officer working the security desk, and seemed to show him something that made him smile. He nodded for her to go on ahead to the elevators. Whatever it was she showed the officer, she kept it close to her body and no matter how many times he replayed it, it wasn't caught on tape.

"Eames, what do you think she could have shown him that he would just … let her in like that?"

"A naked photo of herself?"

The corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. Wisecracks were her way of easing tension. "I'm thinking ID … badge."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're thinking a cop?" She looked back at the monitor, studying the still-frame where Bobby had paused the tape. "Maybe it was someone pretending to be a cop."

"I doubt that … even with ID he wouldn't have just let someone in like that unless … unless he knew them," he mused. "We need to talk to that officer."

Popping the lobby tape, Bobby loaded the eleventh floor tape back into the VCR. They'd already determined the elevator tape was useless – other than pushing the button, she didn't move the entire ride up to eleven and had kept her head bowed the whole time. Even the fact that it clearly showed her long, brown hair was useless – it could easily have been a wig.

Whoever it was, she knew exactly when to turn her head, or put her hand up to shield her face. He was beginning to get just as frustrated as Deakins. "It had to be someone who's been here before … knew the layout."

"Nicole's been here before."

Gesturing with the remote control, Bobby pointed at the monitor screen. "This woman looks too tall to be Nicole … certainly more slender." The camera lost her when she walked into the conference room. According to the timer, she was in the room a total of 84 seconds before she emerged and headed back toward the elevators – more time than was needed to tack a picture to the bulletin board. Bobby wondered what else she had been doing in there.

He rewound the tape once more to the point where she exited the conference room and hit slow motion replay. Then, finally, something caught his eye. _Pause. Rewind. Replay._

"Eames. Do you see that? The way she does that little tilt to her head?"

"Uh-huh … a nervous tick?"

"More like a … a way to release tension. Cracking her neck and … stretching the muscles …" his voice trailed off as his memory caught up with his instincts.

"Bobby?"

He hesitated before murmuring, "Bishop used to do that."

"Bish-… Lynn Bishop?" Alex stood up from her chair and pointed at the monitor. "You think that's Lynn Bishop? Bobby, that's nuts. Why would she do something like this?"

"Well … she wasn't happy a-about leaving Major Case." He thought back to her last day as his temporary partner. She'd put in for a transfer, wanting to stay with the squad, but Deakins denied the request for two reasons. One, they didn't really need another detective at the time – Eames was due back the following Monday. Two, Deakins had told Bishop he didn't think she was quite ready yet .. she needed a few more years seasoning before working with the squad permanently.

"Even so … that was two years ago," Alex was arguing against his theory. "Do you really think she'd wait two years for some kind of … of what? Payback for me … for being your partner?"

"It may not be about payback. Remember … this is Nicole's game."

"Exactly. Why would Bishop do anything for Nicole?"

"Why do any of Nicole's women do things for her?" Bobby brought his fist up to his mouth and rubbed his bottom lip with his knuckles.

Alex looked dumbfounded. "Bobby, I'm having a hard time buying this."

He nodded, accepting the absurdity of the whole thing. But now that his mind had started down that path, he couldn't just stop and make a U-turn. "What was your impression of her?" he turned to look at Alex.

"Bishop?" She met his eyes and gave some thought to his question before answering. "Ambitious. Intelligent. Driven. She definitely didn't want to be in your shadow. What about you?"

"Umm … the same. But I also saw … I think she resented you while you were still here on desk duty. She was definitely much happier once you were on maternity leave. And I …" Goren shook his head, changing his mind about what he was going to say. "I think my impressions of her were tainted by the fact that she wasn't you … wasn't my partner."

"I still can't believe this would be her."

"We really need to talk to the officer on duty last night."

TBC … 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – **Gamesmanship**

The intruder had been in the conference room longer than necessary, and Goren was anxious to go through all the Foster case files to see if any other evidence had been planted … or if anything was missing. But CSU had taken everything, assuring Goren he'd have it all back by tomorrow morning – they'd bring in extra help if necessary. CSU didn't like the idea of someone sneaking into One PP anymore than he did.

He'd also asked that they get their best photo-forensics person to analyze the picture of Eames and Valderez. Not that it was out of the realm of possibility that the photo was real, but he didn't like the fact that nothing about it looked familiar to her.

With nothing to do on that end until tomorrow, he and Eames had pulled the name and address of the officer on duty at the security desk last night. They were now stuck in traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge on their way to Officer Timmons' Greenpoint apartment. Alex was impatiently drumming her fingers on the gearshift knob and, unable to stand it anymore, Bobby placed his hand over hers to still the motion.

Startled, she looked at their hands and then at him. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"It's okay … we're both anxious." Caught by the worry he saw in her eyes, Bobby couldn't look away. He was acutely aware of her hand beneath his and as moments passed, neither one of them moved. That is until the car behind them blew the horn loud and long, letting them know that traffic was moving.

_That hand gesture of hers is going to get us in big trouble one of these days._

They finally approached the turn onto Sutton Street when traffic once again slowed. This time the reason was clear – a cluster of police cars and flashing lights, accompanied by an EMT bus.

"This is it, right?"

Goren checked the building number in his notes. "Yeah."

Flipping the switch for the lights, Eames wrenched the steering wheel to the right and parked the SUV perpendicular to the curb.

Gold shields on display, they approached the nearest uniformed officer.

"We're with Major Case. I'm Detective Eames, this is Detective Goren," Eames gestured toward him. "What happened here?"

"MOF down," the young officer looked pretty shaken. "Looks like suicide."

"What did a suicide do to warrant MCS?" the older beat cop next to him asked.

"Beside the fact that he was one of our own?" Eames snapped as she and Goren walked past them toward the building.

A narrow staircase led up to Timmons' second floor apartment above the street-level storefront. Goren walked ahead of Eames into the back bedroom and was immediately struck with a sense of déjà vu. Timmons lay in a pool of blood, dressed only in his underwear. Next to his outstretched right hand was his .38 caliber service pistol, the apparent cause of his fatal injury.

Crouched next to the body, Goren took in the head wound, the position of Timmons' right hand, and the gun. _So young._ He looked back up at Eames. "Look familiar?"

"You mean other than briefs instead of boxers?"

Sighing, Goren reached into his pocket for a pair of latex gloves so he could begin his examination of the body and the scene. Eames asked the nearest officer to let the OIC know that MCS was taking over and would have their medical examiner's office pick up the body.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Eames … instead of heading right back, let's call Personnel and get Bishop's address," Goren interrupted her concentration on weaving in and out of traffic.

"Bobby …"

"Just … indulge me." His voice held an edge of frustration.

Alex knew he was like a terrier with a bone when he had his mind set on a course of investigation. Throw in the threat to her and the involvement of Nicole Wallace, and Bobby's usual determination was now going to be pure stubbornness. Sighing, she gave in as she knew she would. "Hurry up and call, in case I need to stay on this side of the bridge."

Keeping her eyes on traffic and her ears on Goren's end of the conversation, Alex slowed up a bit until she could find out where she was headed.

"Okay … thanks," Bobby was about to end the call, "What? When? Any other information? Thanks."

"What's up?"

"Bishop left the department … six months ago," he sounded bemused.

"To go where?"

"They don't have any other information … just that she gave thirty days' notice and … and left," Bobby looked out the window, lost in thought.

"So, where am I going?"

"Oh, sorry … her apartment's on the Upper East Side, bordering Harlem."

"Great" _Why did she let him talk her into this stuff?_ "It'll take us at least an hour to get there."

"Try FDR. We'll jump off if we have to."

"Easy for you to say."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and ten minutes later, Alex turned on the flashing lights and double-parked in front of the address they had for Lynn Bishop. Only problem was, none of the tags on the apartment buzzers out front bore her name. Not seeing one clearly marked as "Landlord" but knowing they usually had a first floor apartment, Bobby tried both buttons for the first floor. When no one answered, he took his large hand and pressed all the buttons at once. Foolishly, someone actually buzzed them in without first checking to see who they were.

"We need to post security information for these people," Alex grumbled.

Bobby didn't seem to care. He just smiled and opened the doors.

They knocked on both doors on the first floor, but got no answer. At the end of the hall there was, however, another door that was open and appeared to lead down to the basement.

"Hello?" Goren called down the stairs.

"Hello? Who's there?" an Italian-accented voice answered.

"It's the police. We … we have some questions … about one of the tenants." His eyes met hers before he asked, "Can we come down?"

"I'll be right up," the man sounded tired.

They heard him climbing the stairs and then saw the rotund, fifty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a pair of blue overalls. He held a rag and was wiping grease from his hands.

"I'm Detective Goren. This is Detective Eames. We're here to ask about one of the tenants."

"So you said. I'm Sal Ianelli, the landlord," he looked up at Bobby from his height of about five foot seven. "I apologize … I'd shake your hand, but as you can see …" he held up a grease-stained hand.

"No problem, Mr. Ianelli," Bobby turned on his 'formal' charm. "We have a few questions about Lynn Bishop."

"Bishop? Lovely red-head. She moved out about four or five months ago."

Alex could see Bobby's disappointment. "Did she leave a forwarding address?" she asked.

"No … she … said she was moving out of state. That she would contact me, but I never heard from her."

"Did she leave anything behind. Or receive any mail?" Bobby pressed.

"There was some mail at first. But without an address …" Ianelli shrugged. "I eventually threw it away. There was … something. A week ago. An envelope was left under the front door with her name on it." He slipped past them and headed toward the apartment at the front of the building. Mr. Ianelli opened the front door and Alex looked into a tidy apartment that released the fragrant scent of garlic, herbs and tomato sauce. Her stomach grumbled and she realized that neither she nor Bobby had eaten since that morning.

Ianelli handed a large envelope to Bobby. No postmark. Hand-written block letters spelled out 'Lynn Bishop' in the center of the front. Bobby's look questioned the landlord, and Ianelli simply nodded his head granting his permission to open the envelope.

It contained only one sheet. Another photo of Alex and Valderez. This time it included Mark Foster … handing her a thick envelope.

Bobby looked at Alex with alarm in his eyes. The anxiety she'd felt since that morning was now replaced with a finger of fear running up her spine.

She knew what this looked like – a bribe.

TBC … 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – **Gamesmanship**

_Like father, like daughter._

The litany kept replaying in her mind in time with the windshield wipers.

_Like father, like daughter._

Alex wondered how long until someone actually said it. Then she wondered, if she overheard them, how long it would take her to have them on the ground eating their words.

It was a gray, rainy morning following a mostly sleepless night for Alex. They had finally stopped for something to eat – enjoying their meal in comfortable silence. It had been almost midnight when she dropped Bobby in front of his apartment building, with both of them promising to get an early start this morning. Alex was at least an hour ahead of usual, but she wasn't really surprised to see that Bobby was already sitting at his desk, chin propped on his hand reading through a file.

"Hey," Alex dropped her jacket and coffee on her desk and walked around to his side.

"Hey."

"We get the Foster files back?" she asked as she rested her hip against the edge of his desk.

"Not yet."

"ME's report on Timmons?"

"Not yet."

"Photo analysis?"

"Not yet," they said in unison. Bobby smiled up at her.

"So, what _are_ you reading?"

"Bishop's personnel file."

"Oh." Alex walked back around to her side of the desks and sat down with her coffee. "How early did you have to call Deakins for that authorization?"

"Last night, when I got home," he answered without looking up.

"Better you than me."

_'This proves Bishop's involved.' _She again heard Bobby's words, but still couldn't quite believe it. The timing just seemed all wrong. If she held a grudge against

Alex, why would it take so long for her to do something about it? And why would Nicole Wallace be involved in all this?

_'It explains how Nicole knew about your relationship with Mark Foster, and the details of his lifestyle.'_ Bobby was so far down this path, Alex thought it would take a Mack truck to stop him – and even that would probably get one hell of a fight.

"I have a present for you," his voice sounded teasing. This can't be good, she thought as he handed her a piece of paper. Bishop's computer IDs and passwords.

"Gee, thanks," she took the sheet from him, "just what I've always wanted."

The next half hour was spent with him looking through the paper files while Alex checked out Bishop's computer activity. She thought that maybe he'd wound up with the easier task.

Every couple of minutes, he would look up at her from the files in front of him, checking on her – like she was made of glass_. And I swear, if he does it one more time …_

There it was. Alex closed her laptop and glared at Bobby.

"Those photos are fake, Eames. You know it and I know it," he said gently, obviously misinterpreting her frustration.

"Let's just hope IAB knows it," she answered, feeling more than a little guilty. How could she be annoyed with him when he was so clearly worried about her?

Bobby gave her an encouraging smile. "CSU has their best tech working on them."

She nodded, pulled the laptop back in front of her and fought against the lump in her throat. _Now is not the time to get all emotional!_

Alex had gotten through all of Bishop's e-mail activity while she was with MCS. The woman was fanatic about saving a copy of every little message she sent. Bored with the e-mail, Alex flipped over to other computer activity – promising herself she'd go back to the e-mail when she had more energy for it.

Scrolling through the list of case files Bishop had researched, a name immediately jumped out at Alex – Croyden. _Oh my god! What the hell was she doing accessing Croyden's file?_

"Bobby," her excitement immediately caught his attention. "I found something."

He got up, snagged the chair from the desk next to Alex and rolled up beside her. When he saw what she was pointing at, Bobby reached around her back to grab the mouse and began clicking and opening files – searching for Bishop's activity.

"Why would she be accessing Croyden's file?" she asked, trying to ignore the fact that his arm was wrapped around her.

"The case came up … during one of our investigations. My … predilection toward blaming deadbeat fathers …" Bobby answered her almost absently as he scanned through the files that Bishop had accessed. "Look at the … the timing of her interest. She didn't look at these files until almost two months after she heard of Croyden."

"That date's just one week after I came back from maternity leave."

"And just one week after she learned she wouldn't get her transfer. This … this is how she hooked up with Nicole."

"Bobby, this can't just be about a job," Alex leaned against the back of her chair and turned toward him.

He let go of the mouse and brought his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "I don't think that it is," he muttered. Draping his arm across the back of her chair, Bobby looked at her and Alex could see in his eyes that he was wrestling with a decision. She waited. Pushing him for an answer usually had the opposite effect.

"Bishop and I had our … challenges."

Something about this sounded ominous and Alex suddenly wondered if she really wanted to hear about it. "What happened?"

"She made a comment once … a-about how she thought you might not want to come back from maternity leave. Even though you were a .. a surrogate … she thought you should transfer to a … safer desk job," he paused. "That was one thing."

"And? The other _'thing'_?"

Bobby was watching her intently. "I invited her to dinner her last day here."

Alex's breath caught. Dinner was no big deal, but the fact he'd never told her about it was. Her heart sank as she realized there was probably a good reason. "And turned on the Goren charm," she said with more sarcasm than she intended.

"I didn't try to flirt with her … I never intended to sleep with her …"

"But you did?" Alex's voice rose in shock.

"No! God, Eames … give me some credit," Bobby's eyes looked around the squad room, trying to see if anyone overheard her outburst.

She took a deep breath and steadied herself before speaking again. "Sorry. So, what did happen?"

"I was in a good mood … you were coming back on Monday. We had a nice dinner. I got to know more about her in that one night than probably the entire three months she worked with me." Bobby paused, as if considering his choice of words. "After dinner, I hailed her a cab … and then it got weird."

"Weird?"

"She … um … kissed me." He must have seen something in her reaction, because Bobby leaned in closer and his voice was more determined as he quickly continued. "I thought it would be a friendly, good-bye kind of thing … but she … turned it into ... into something more."

His eyes studied her, and Alex struggled to just listen to what he had to say without letting emotions interpret for her.

"I, uh … responded at first. I …" Bobby really looked uncomfortable. _Good_. "I won't make any excuses, but … when she invited me back to her place, I knew the whole thing was a mistake. I told her no – several times. Finally she got angry and … and said things about you. You and me. Eames, the whole thing caught me off guard. And because I made matters worse, I really didn't know what to say. She finally got in the cab … and that was it. I never saw her again."

Alex cleared her throat, mainly to make sure she was still capable of speech. "So … let me get this straight," her voice wavered and she stopped for a moment to gain control. "She wanted you, you didn't want her."

He nodded.

"And she thinks I'm the barrier to this?"

Bobby could wear the best poker face she'd ever seen – but not with her. His eyes revealed so many emotions, and she once again caught a glimpse of the pain he'd tried so hard to overcome. "Alex …"

She held up her hand to stop him. "I know," she whispered. Alex desperately wanted to rest her hand against his cheek … tell him she understood and felt the pain as deeply as he.

Instead, she took her fallback position of sarcasm. "Perceptive little bitch, isn't she?" she said quietly.

"She wants you out of the picture …"

"And Nicole wants revenge on you," Alex shook her head in disbelief. "A match made in heaven."

"We need to find them."

_TBC …_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - **Gamesmanship**

Goren returned to his desk with a fresh cup of coffee while Eames was logging back into her computer as herself. She would start a search on Bishop's activity for the past five months – credit cards, bank accounts, social security number … anything that might tell them where she'd been or what she'd been up to. He was about to ask if she was going to eat the danish sitting on her desk when Deakins walked into the squad room.

"Eames. My office."

She looked at Bobby then got up to follow the captain. Goren grabbed his binder to join them, but Deakins stopped him. "Just her. IAB called me at home this morning," he sounded pretty irritated. "They're on their way up."

"Well … I need to be there. This all … started with me," he argued.

"Goren," Deakins was firm, "we'll call you if we need you."

So he was stuck sitting at his desk glaring at the IAB guys in Deakins' office as they questioned Eames. Every so often voices were raised and it took everything he had not to go in there and tell them exactly what they could do with those photos.

The whole time he was also watching Eames. She looked calm and confident, far more than he knew she felt.

Less than an hour later the two men from IAB walked past Goren on their way out, nodding a greeting but saying nothing. He got up and walked into the Captain's office. "Well?"

"No surprise … IAB had copies of the photos waiting for them this morning," Deakins explained. "They came up here looking for answers."

"Apparently Timmons' death bought us some time," Eames joined in. "It doesn't feel right to them, but they're anxious for the results of the photo analysis."

"Yeah, well … they're not the only ones," Goren looked expectantly at Deakins.

"I'll call down and see what's taking so long."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"If these are fakes, they're damn good ones." Samuel Smith was the typical GenX techy type. Straight, reddish-brown hair with a blunt cut just below his ears, baggy jeans that looked two sizes too big, and a tee-shirt with some obscure saying that Goren was still trying to figure out. But the lab assured him Smith was the best.

He had the photos on an opaque projector in the conference room, producing an enlarged image against the far wall.

"There's no 'if.' They're fakes," Goren set him straight. "How was it done?"

Smith looked surprised but not intimidated by the reprimand. "Well, someone would really have to know what they're doing. See here?" He used his pen as a pointer under the projector light. "The lighting and shadows … eye contact between the subjects … damn good job."

"But not impossible," Deakins persisted.

"Anything's possible, with the right equipment and talent," Smith sounded impressed. He moved the photos on the projector platform, studying select areas of the image on the white wall.

"Hold it," Goren jumped up out of his chair. "Move it back … here …" he reached out and slid the photo under the lens. "Can you zoom … enlarge this area?"

Smith turned a knob and adjusted the focus. Bobby felt a grin spread across his face while Deakins, Eames and Smith all looked baffled.

"Just … wait …" Goren held up his hand as left the conference room. Digging through his desk drawers, he was pulling out papers and throwing them on a pile. _I know it's here somewhere … ah! _He held what he was looking for and saw exactly what he remembered. Walking back to the conference room, his grin widened.

"Remember this?" he handed the snapshot to Alex.

"The Christmas party … four years ago." She seemed surprised to see the picture of the two of them seated at a table with a Christmas tree in the background. They'd leaned close together and smiled for the camera. His arm was draped across her shoulders. "You kept this?"

He snatched the photo back from her. "It's a good picture of me."

Goren placed the snapshot next to one of the photos already under the projector, adjusting them for a side-by-side display of the area he wanted. "Notice anything?"

"Not really," Deakins squinted at the images.

But Alex smiled. She looked at him and raised her left hand. "I didn't have these," she said as she ran her fingers lightly over the tiny earrings outlining her ear.

"No … you didn't have them four years ago," he said quietly. "But they're on these two photos. Bishop and Wallace wouldn't have known."

All that time spent watching her tuck her hair behind her ear … all that time contemplating the delicate shell and the soft skin behind … it was now worth more than just some pleasant fantasies.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It turned into another long day. First, they called IAB back up to the eleventh floor to show them the photos and Bobby's snapshot. They had let Smith loose with the technical explanation of how to digitally alter images, including specifications and details of the software and equipment necessary for such a feat. Smith's eyes shone throughout, while everyone else's glazed over. Well, everyone except Goren … he was interested.

After that, Alex was determined to get back on her computer to begin researching Bishop, but Bobby thought the strain was starting to show. He made a point of taking her to lunch – wanting to get her away from the squad room for a break. The big concession was agreeing to her favorite soup and salad place instead of the sandwich shop with the pastrami on rye he was craving.

They got back to their desks to find the ME's report on Timmons. No big surprises there. Single gunshot wound to the head. Alcohol and barbiturates found in his system. GSR testing inconclusive – he may have held the gun when it was fired, but he may have had help.

Foster's case files followed quickly on the heels of the ME report. Forensics had gone through every piece of paper, every note, every photo in the file and found nothing out of the ordinary.

Alex still hadn't had a chance to research Bishop and by now it was mid-afternoon. Bobby took the files into the conference room to begin combing through them while Eames stayed at her desk on the computer.

"Hey." Alex's tired voice broke through his concentration. Bobby glanced at the clock to see it was almost 7:00. He'd been so immersed in motivations, strategies and planning that he hadn't even noticed time passing.

"You find anything?" he asked.

She shook her head and walked over to sit across the table from him. "Whatever she's been up to, it hasn't been done with her money or in her name." She brought a fist up to rub wearily at her eyes. "How about you?"

"I think … I've, uh … figured out a few things." He got up and walked around the table. Alex stood up and faced the bulletin board where he had grouped pictures – one side for Foster's case, the other for the photos of her and Timmons' murder.

"This …" he traced his hand over the pictures and notes from Mark Fosters murder, "This is planned, thought out. It's … aimed at you. Aimed at discrediting you."

"This …" Goren moved to the other side. "It feels … improvised. The pieces fit together, but it's more … desperate. It's aimed at me. It uses you, but it's aimed at my investigation … my failure." He stepped back to take in the entire spread of photos. "Timmon's death … he was killed only because he recognized Bishop. It was staged to look like Foster's … in an attempt to disguise it as part of the whole. But there's no tie to you or me. His death is tied only to ... to Bishop."

"Here …" he walked back over to Foster's side of the bulletin board, "You should have investigated this case with me … but you didn't. That destroyed their plan … ruined whatever they hoped to achieve."

He stood behind Alex as they both considered the complicated and damaging evidence before them. Bobby briefly rubbed her back between her shoulder blades – wanting to reassure and comfort her. "Nicole was right about one thing. Logan and I didn't spend enough time investigating." She twisted to look up at him.

"Not your involvement …" he clarified. "Valderez's death. I don't think he OD'd … not without help. His death was their concession of the game."

"So, this …" Alex gestured toward Foster's side of the board, "is Bishop. And this," she knocked her fist on the photos of her, "is Nicole."

Bobby shook his head. "Bishop _and_ Nicole," his hand swept over Foster's photos. "Nicole," he slapped his hand flat on Eames' pictures.

"If everything you're saying is true, and I'm not saying it's not … why did they wait so long to kill Mark. It was almost a year after we dated."

He nodded and squeezed her shoulder – she'd just hit on the one thing that had been bothering him the most. Until he figured it out.

"Because Deakins said she needed a couple years' seasoning. Foster was killed, what … a year and a half after you came back? Add a couple of months … for all of this to get you out," his hand again swept over the crime photos. "Bishop would have been the logical choice for your replacement. She would have been back in MCS … and Nicole would have had a 'plant' on the squad."

"Working next to you …"

_TBC…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 - **Gamesmanship**

"Bobby … you need to go home."

Alex poked her head back into the conference room, carrying her purse and jacket. She'd taken care of a few e-mails before shutting down for the night, and it was now approaching 8:00.

"Soon," he replied while still studying the photos.

"What's that mean … another two hours?"

He looked at her and smiled. "No … it means soon."

"You're going to go cross-eyed," she warned just as her cell phone rang. She flipped it open and answered without even looking. "Eames. Oh … hi." _Shit! Why couldn't he have called five minutes later, when she was away from here._ "No, uh … not tonight. I'll call you, okay?" Alex tried to sound as vague as possible. "I will … bye."

Bobby's head was bowed as he very deliberately wrote notes in his binder. _Shit!_ Things had finally started to feel a little normal. _Why hadn't she just checked her damn phone before answering it?_

"I'm heading home for a bubble bath and a glass of wine," she decided to just pretend the call never happened. "Sure you don't want a ride?"

Bobby shook his head. "I'll take the subway. See you in the morning."

He was driving himself too hard – all because he was so worried about her. Alex would have loved to grab him by the hand and drag him out of there to make sure he ate a decent meal and was home early enough to get a good night's sleep. Although if she were truly honest with herself, what she really wanted to do was run her hands through his hair, pull him to her for a long, lingering kiss and tell him not to worry so much.

"Don't stay too late, Bobby."

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How did Eames know it would be two more hours before he headed home? It started raining again, and Bobby pulled his jacket collar tight around his neck as he jogged the final block to the subway station.

He stood on the platform, along with a surprising number of people, waiting for the northbound train. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets while he studied the graffiti on the walls. Some of it was excellent artwork – it's a shame these kids didn't have a better outlet for their talent.

"Detective Goren!"

Startled, Bobby spun around and looked across the tracks at the opposite platform for the southbound trains.

"Such a late night, Bobby. I was getting cold waiting outside."

"You should have come in," his voice was calm, but his emotions weren't. "We could have had a room all ready for you."

She laughed. "You keep that sense of humor, Bobby," Nicole smiled at him. "You're going to need it."

The object of so much fear, anxiety and activity for the past three days stood calmly across from him, separated only by the distance of two subway rail lines. She wore a trench coat tied tightly around her small waist – it dripped rainwater at her feet, but her hair was dry.

Goren felt fear slide through him. Alex had left work alone two hours ago, and Nicole showing up like this was never good. "You're … on the wrong side of the tracks," he needed to keep her talking until he could figure out what to do. "Why don't you come over here … so we can talk."

"As far as you're concerned, I was always on the wrong side of the tracks," she said bitterly. "No, Bobby. Unfortunately there's no time to chat … I really have to go now," she turned to leave.

"Before the game is over?" he called out, stepping closer to the edge of the platform.

"Oh ... it's over." Nicole spoke with an assurance that chilled him. "Your partner didn't want to play – too interested in all the possibilities with you," she waved her hand through the air, exaggerating her words. "She had a soft spot for you, Bobby. Believe it or not, I understand that," her voice softened.

Nicole's use of past-tense wasn't lost on him, and Goren's mind began scrambling through all the evidence and every word of her conversation with him at the library.

"I had to change the rules of engagement," she now sounded annoyed. "Don't look so worried, Bobby. She was happy when I left her. I assured her she would have your undivided attention, and best of all … you'd be giving her flowers."

Ice ran through his veins. Now he knew. "Where is she?"

"You'll find out soon enough. This game's been fun, Bobby, but not very satisfying for me. I'll have to come up with a better one next time." She kissed the tips of her fingers and waved at him before walking away to blend in with the crowd.

Goren took off running, his long legs climbing the stairs two and three at a time. If he could just make it to the platform before the next southbound train left …

He reached the top and bolted through the station to the stairs leading back down to the opposite tracks. Seeing a group of people in front of him, Goren vaulted over the left-hand railing and continued his headlong race downward. His lungs were beginning to burn, reminding him that he wasn't as young as he used to be – and that he should probably ease up on the scotch and cigarettes.

When he reached the next level, Goren pulled his gold shield from his pocket as he clambered over the turnstiles then raced down the final flight of stairs. He burst onto the platform in time to see the back of the train entering the tunnel.

Chest heaving, Goren leaned over and gripped his knees, trying to regain his breath. _Sonofabitch!_

He'd talk to security and have them put out an alert for the stops down the line, but he thought it likely Nicole tucked her hair back into her hat and their only reward would be a discarded trench coat.

Running back up the way he came, he reached the main level of the station where it crossed the tracks. His cell phone chirped its notice of voice messages. He flipped it open to see he had one message and three missed calls – all from Eames.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Goren exited the subway station three blocks from his building - the night sky strobed red, white and blue. He ran the distance to his apartment, and saw a knot of activity on the street. Slowing as he approached the cluster of police cars, he spotted Eames in charge – directing activity. As though sensing his presence, she looked directly at him before breaking away from the crowed and walking toward him.

"Bobby …"

"Where is she," he croaked.

Eames searched his eyes before sighing deeply. She turned and he followed her to the bench on the sidewalk across from his building.

"There's no obvious trauma," Alex said gently. "Ten to one she has Nicole's signature needle mark on her."

Goren crouched down in front of Lynn Bishop. She sat there, eyes staring sightlessly at the windows of his third floor apartment. Much the same as he remembered with her delicate features and beautiful red hair, she looked disturbingly peaceful. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he restlessly rubbed his fingers back and forth on his bottom lip. Alex stood silently above him, letting him know she was near but giving him the space that only she would understand he needed.

He reached to press Lynn's eyelids closed, but Alex caught his hand. "Bobby … CSU isn't finished yet."

Bobby looked up at Alex. Her face blurred and she squeezed his hand, reassuring him that she was warm and alive. He'd been so afraid …

"She diverted me to the wrong partner," he whispered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Following the line of mourners, it was finally Bobby's turn. Fighting against a stinging behind his eyes and a lump in his throat he couldn't seem to swallow, he reached to place the beribboned bouquet of three white roses atop the coffin. He'd looked up the meaning of rose colors – finding one that seemed most appropriate. _'White: Silence, Secrecy, Reverence, Humility, Youthfulness, Heavenly.'_

Alex placed her hand on his back and Bobby realized that of all the emotions roiling inside, the one he felt strongest was relief that she was safe. He didn't know what kind of man that made him, but he hoped he could live with it.

He looked down at Alex and remembered the last time they'd worn dress blues for a fellow officer's funeral – Bishop had been with them. She'd been young and eager then – before Nicole had a chance to corrupt her desires.

"Next time, Bobby," Alex said quietly.

He nodded and turned away from the coffin. Isn't that what they said every time?

_End_


End file.
